Turn to Stone
by lipseek
Summary: When Quinn had simply given up, it was Rachel who believed in her when she couldn't believe in herself. Post "On My Way" (re-write)
1. Turn to Stone I

_**Preface;**_

Three months, three long months. Months of sitting, of standing, of pacing of watching the crisp green leaves of the oak tree outside Quinn's window turn orange and red.

Months of hoping and hoping and hoping…

She'd learnt to recite the long list of injuries like she'd done so many times before with the lines of a song. She'd heard them, read them, said them so much, they'd become a part of her, forming a slow, steady beat and low, familiar melody.

Quinn had been admitted with an ICH and a SCI - an Intracerebral Hemorrhage and a Spinal Cord Injury. The surgeons had spent the first five hours closing the bleed from her brain, and the next eight decompressing a fracture to the lumbar sacral disks and stabilizing a severe contusion to the thoracic portion of Quinn's spine. Her ribs were broken, her spleen was ruptured, her skin was bruised, and her face was swollen.

For what felt like the longest time in the world, she was just a lump in a bed in ICU, wrapped up in tubes and surrounded by machines.

It had taken nearly a week for Quinn to open her eyes, another week for her to speak, and one more after that to have a conversation. She lay flat on her back, counting ceiling tiles and clock ticks, while her legs lay hidden and lifeless under the sheets.

"_How are you sweetie?_" Even through the blur she could decipher her mothers facetious drawl. She could decipher the doctors sterile bedside manor, "_the bowel is flaccid_." She could decipher quiet voice of Rachel Berry telling her, "_it's okay."_

As the world became more lucid, and Quinn was truly there, rather than simply fading in and out, they began to raise the bed little by little, propping her up on pillows and bedrails because without them she'd slop from one side to the other.

There was an Medical Doctor, an Occupational Therapist, a Physical Therapist, a Case Manager, a Neurologist, a Neurosurgeon, a Psyche and a handful of nurses who rotated in appearances, checking blood pressure, heart rate, body temperature, circulation, bladder and bowel movements, turning and pain management.

Quinn's mom would drop by every other day to have short, sharp uncomfortable conversation about nothing in particular for less than an hour. Santana would bitch about school and hiss at Brittany when she spoke about her grandmothers colostomy bag, not unlike the bag she could see peeking out from under the sheets – Quinn's cheeks blushed warm pink as she quickly covered it up. Sam brought flowers. Mercedes brought magazines. Mr Shuester brought a mixtape. Kurt had read her his speech for graduation. But three months was a long time. It was the end of school, the beginning of a new journey and with the immediate threat of death over, it had become too easy for them to forget.

Now it was just Rachel, curled up on a chair beside her bed - her smile still filled to the brim with hope and a crumpled envelope with an acceptance of her deferral from NYADA.

_Note; this is a re-write of a previous story_  
_The title of the story is a song called Turn to Stone, by Ingrid Michaelson  
Reviews are appreciated =]  
_


	2. Turn to Stone II

A small, round nurse knocked on the doorframe then entered, as usual, without an invitation. Despite the deceiving shape of her body, she moved quickly, scanning over the chart tucked into the end of Quinn's bed.

The whole day was a long, unchanging routine, starting as soon as the sun was up. Sheets were changed, bag emptied, temperature checked, and a brief examination. A serve of toast, cereal, eggs and often a cold cup of coffee would arrive not long after. The physio would spend an hour trying to convince Quinn to get out of bed, and Rachel would turn into a bad comedy act in an attempt to diffuse the situation when Quinn lost her patience and took it out on them both. Lunch was usually a sandwich with a salad and a cardboard box of apple juice, and dinner was either rice or pasta with sauce reeking of garlic or meat that had been overcooked. In between, Rachel would chatter quietly, mostly to herself, describing in detail what she was doing, or the things she could see, and while most people might have thought it strange, Quinn knew, she was really doing it for her own benefit, so that the constant silence in the room didn't seem quite so loud.

"Morning, ladies." The nurse said, without looking up.

"Morning, Eileen." Rachel smiled politely, instinctively filling in the gap when Quinn was silent.

"Beautiful day outside. Autumn's such a pretty time of year, isn't it?" She didn't wait for a response. "Do you both the world of good to get out into some fresh air. Should make the most of the weather, you know? Be too cold out soon. Be cooped back up indoors in no time." Sometimes it annoyed Rachel that Eileen often forgot the first word of almost every sentence, but most of the time, her thick, but charming Irish accent seemed to make up for it.

"Temperature's elevated a wee bit." Eileen said, shaking the thermometer.

She pulled the sheets back, pushed up the hem of Quinn's thin white gown and rolled her to one side. She let out a deep sigh and furrowed her brow. "Got to get yourself moving, love. This is infected. Probably be the reason for the fever. Healthy young thing like you shouldn't just be lying here in a hospital bed all day long."

Quinn should have been in a center for rehabilitation. No one was really sure why she was not.

Stretching a glove over her short, plump fingers, she began to clean out the small pressure sore that had recently begun to develop at the base of Quinn's spine. Rachel watched her friends face for any signs of distress, but Quinn simply stared ahead, eyes fixed on the water cooler in the corner of the room.

"I'll pack 'em and send the doctor down to have a look later today." She stuffed the wounds with Duoderm soaked dressings, hoping that it would be enough to minimalize the infection. "Keep her off it, prop her up with any many pillows as she needs, and don't get it wet if she showers."

Eileen had stopped directing much of what she said towards Quinn early on in her stint at the hospital. She spoke so little, and showed no signs that she was actually listening at all, that Eileen aimed almost all necessary information, medical or otherwise, Rachel's way, who unlike her friend, had a rather enthusiastic interest in Quinn's condition. In the beginning, Rachel scribbled notes down furiously in the back of a notepad, trying to keep up with everything the doctor was saying. Then frustratingly, she'd pull out a stack of hot pink post-its from her bag with question's she'd thought up during the night, or dot points from articles she'd read. Eileen peeled the glove off her hand and threw it into the waste bin, realizing it had been a few weeks since had seen the post-its or the notebook.

"See you later this afternoon." Eileen offered Rachel a quick smile and made her way towards the door.

"You're doing a double again? Eileen you're working too much, you're going to end up running yourself into the ground."

The small nurse raised her eyebrows. _Pot-kettle-black_. Rachel shrugged dismissively and lifted the corner of her mouth into a half quirk.

"You know the drill – bills to pay, mouths to feed." She gave Rachel's arm a firm, but gentle pat. "You make sure you're not heading the same way, my dear." Despite Rachel's unfortunate tendency to be overly organized and overly eager, and her ability to talk the ears off a brass monkey, she had grown to quite fond of the small, dark eyed girl.

"I will. Thank you Eileen. Take care." Eileen disappeared down the hallway and into the next patients room, but Rachel stood at the door a moment longer, watching the commotion outside.

The orthopedic ward was a mixture of older patients with broken hips or ribs due to osteoporosis, and younger patients, especially young men who had broken bones due to falls off motorbikes and other extreme sports. There was also a small percentage of those with severe spinal cord injuries, who more often than not, were victims to serious car accidents. This percentage included Quinn Fabray. While orthopedics was interesting, Rachel had much preferred all that drama that the neurosurgical ward and the ICU had to offer.

Rachel padded back to the bed and perched on the edge beside her friend. Quinn was still staring at the water cooler.

"I think we should wash your hair. They've added Moroccan Oil to the product list in the gift shop. I bought some so we could try it out. Sandy 's been using it and you should see her hair! It's so shiny!" Quinn thought about asking who Sandy was, but the thought of just trying to get the words out and then have to actually listen to Rachel's response was exhausting in its self. Quinn simply nodded. Rachel took that as an agreement to having her hair washed and she beamed brightly as she buzzed for a nurse.

When Thomas, one of the younger aids appeared, he greeted both girls with a quiet hello, and wheeled the patient lift over to the bed so he could transfer Quinn into the chair. Quinn hadn't quite made it into a standard wheelchair yet. The strength of the muscles in her core was still too weak and if put into an upright position, she'd simply slump forward. Her lack of enthusiasm for physical therapy wasn't doing much to help the situation.

For now, Quinn used a commode to shower in; a wheelchair that tilted backwards at a 45 degree angle, had a hole in the bottom of it shaped like the seat of a toilet, and a strap that was secured over her chest to stop her from falling out.

"She's developed a pressure sore above her coccyx that can't get wet. Could you tape it up please?" Thomas was quick to retrieve the clear plastic strips from the storeroom, and even quicker to secure them onto Quinn's lower back. He always felt nervous around both the blonde and the brunette. Rachel spoke too much, and Quinn spoke too little. He'd go in, get his job done and get out as fast as possible. They were both pretty, but so unbearably complicated.

Rachel adjusted the temperature of the water and in one swift and well-practiced movement, removed Quinn's hospital gown.

The whole thing was an effort, there was no denying it, but it was worth it. There wasn't much Quinn enjoyed these days, but for just a few minutes she could forget about everything else and focus on the warmth of the water caressing her, and Rachel, who was always eager to please, would lather her in soap and massage her scalp with shampoo and conditioner. They'd wait until Quinn's fingers and toes began to wrinkle before shutting off the water and wheeling the chair back onto the tiles.

In the stillness of the steamy bathroom, Rachel would dry and brush through Quinn's long locks of hair, and coat her arms and legs in jasmine scented lotion. The lazy circles she made on Quinn's skin as she rubbed it in was almost hypnotic. Quinn's eyes remained closed the whole time, and only reopened when the lid of the lotion snapped shut. She watched Rachel through the reflection of the mirror as she tossed the towel into the hamper then reached for a fresh gown to thread around her limbs.

Back in the room, Rachel buzzed again for Thomas to help Quinn back into bed. The relief provided by the shower was gone, and a dull throbbing was beginning again where Quinn sat, where she leaned, where her feet rested, where her knees bent. The doctors said it was a good sign, that she could feel something, _anything, _but she was beginning to wonder _how_good a sign it was, how good was it really that she was in constant pain.

"Do you want something to eat?" Rachel noticed the new meal that had been placed on the tray. Quinn shook her head.

Thomas had left her on her side so she was facing the wall, but she could still hear Rachel moving around the room. Quinn had snapped at her just a few hours ago and to be honest, she couldn't even remember why. Rachel simply folded her hands in her lap and stared at them in defeat. Quinn couldn't understand why she kept coming back, day after day, after everything, after the way she had treated her in high school, after how she was still treating her now, why she kept arriving at 9:07 every morning with her eyes wide with hope and her words filled with promises. When Quinn had simply given up, it was Rachel who believed in her when she couldn't believe in herself. And yes, she smiled too much, and she talked too much, and she sang too much, but Quinn couldn't bare the thought of her walking out the door and never coming back.

The chair scraped along the floor as Rachel pulled it out and sat down. The small brunette cleared her throat and began in a thick, southern drawl, smoothing the pages down as she read, _"Scarlett O'Hara was not beautiful, but men seldom realized it when caught by her charm as the Tarleton twins were."_

Quinn almost smiled. Gone With the Wind had always been her favorite. She exhaled, sinking deeper into the bed. She tried to concentrate on the words, to take humor at the theatrics Rachel was, of course, putting into the story, but her eyelids were heavy and Quinn knew if she asked, Rachel would read it again from the top tomorrow. She didn't even make it to the second page.

Rachel lowered her voice and listened for the change of breathing, indicating Quinn was asleep. She closed the book and stood up. Quietly she made her way out of the room.


	3. Turn to Stone III

Rachel knocked on the wooden panel of the Doctors door and waited to be invited inside. He looked up at her from over the rim of his glasses, drawing his attention away from the piles and piles of paper that covered his desk. He smiled warmly, and gestured for Rachel to take a seat.

Rachel did her best to appear mature, to seem grown up. She shook his hand, crossed her legs, sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap.

"Hello Rachel. Thank you for making the time to come to see me. I also invited Mrs Fabray, but she's been very busy with work." The doctor shifted in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the excuse.

Rachel nodded, busy thinking of other things rather than the lack of mothering Mrs Fabray seemed to be doing. Her mind had been whirring since yesterday afternoon when Eileen had told she had an appointment with him early the following day.

Doctor Lindsay picked up a piece of paper, skimmed through it, silently mouthing the words, then set it down and pressed his palms together.

"Quinn's medical team met yesterday to discuss the progress of her treatment plan. She suffered an flexion-distraction fracture during the accident…"

Rachel could feel the colour drain from her face. Once again she was unable to shake off the image as she remembered how the doctor had explained the injury in graphic detail – how as the truck crashed into Quinn, the jarring motion had caused her spine to suddenly and violently flex forward, basically causing one of her vertebras to snap in two.

"The initial surgery enabled to insert the rods that have helped to stabilize her spine and she has been undergoing physical therapy for two months now, but we are concerned that we are not seeing more improvement in her condition."

Rachel cringed inwardly, slumping into her seat as she suddenly realized where this conversation was leading. There was absolutely no doubt about it, Quinn was an incredibly terrible patient.

"Quinn should have been admitted to a rehabilitation center over a month ago, but she chose to stay here and follow rehab program with us instead. We do have the facilities to provide this kind of care, however, Wendy informed us that Quinn is not co-operating during their sessions. She also told us that Quinn is not doing anything outside these sessions to assist in her own rehabilitation to her spine."

"What does that mean?" The young girl sounded impatient.

Doctor Lindsay leaned back in his chair, he was trying to gauge the situation, work out just how much information he should give.

"Quinn was diagnosed with an Incomplete Spinal Cord Injury, an injury that was not absolute. Once the swelling in her spine had gone down, the signs were good. She had some sensation and some movement, although very weak below the injury. Usually, with an incomplete injury, the ability to feel and the ability to move will increase within the first six months. But fore Quinn, in the last three months, there has been very little improvement. Because she is not co-operating with physical therapy it's meant that her limbs have remained immobile for a long period of time. We're concerned that if Quinn does not begin co-operating soon, that it will become quite difficult for her to get much more movement back than what she has at the present."

Rachel was biting her lip, doing her best to stay calm as the realization dawned on her. "You mean she might not get any better?"

He sat up again and removed his glasses, nodding hesitantly.

"Okay…alright, well thank you for your time." She was already standing, pushing back her seat.

The doctor raised his eyebrows, surprised at the abrupt end to the conversation. He could see the young girl was struggling to come to terms with the news.

"Rachel, we still do hope for progress. Quinn just needs to start pushing herself a little more to see some results."

"Yes. Yes, I understand. Thank you, Sir." She couldn't shake his hand again.

Rachel backed out of the office and passed by the small crowd waiting for the elevator. She swallowed hard then headed for the stair well, breathing heavily as she began the assent up six flights of stairs, stopping to slam the fire exit door open, and finally taking in a huge gulp of air when she stepped out onto the hospital roof.

It was only out here, high above the rest of the world and far enough away from anyone else in it, that Rachel allowed herself to feel completely overwhelmed. Her head was spinning and she suddenly felt overcome with emotion and exhaustion. She took a deep breath and scrubbed at her face with the back of her hands. Rachel made a futile attempt to pull herself together, then, with her stomach in knots, but not knowing who else she could turn to, Rachel pulled out her phone and dialed a number she thought she would never have to use - Coach Sue Sylvester.

Rachel wasn't afraid of Sue, just cautious. The woman was talented – there was no doubt about it – she brought blackmail, manipulation, and fear to every table. Sue was a woman who could move a mountain, could swallow a sea – Rachel just hoped she was talented enough to convince Quinn to get out of bed. In a small and unsure voice, Rachel asked her if she would come and to her surprise, Sue said that she would.


	4. Turn to Stone IV

"Good morning Quinn! How are you feeling today?"

"I'm fantastic" Quinn answered, her words dripping with sarcasm.

Wendy was always on time. She burst through Quinn's door at exactly 10:55am sporting the same enthusiastic smile and can-do attitude each morning. As a first year graduate, she was still under the strange assumption that somehow she was going to make a difference in the world. Quinn wondered how long it would be until all that prospect and determination was sucked out of her and she arrived late, frowning and lacking any kind of motivation at all.

"Well that's great, Quinn!" Wendy was either dumb as a post or had simply learned how to ignore Quinn's cynicism. "Would you like to head down to the gym today?" Everyday Wendy asked, and everyday Quinn said no. "Okay, well, let's get started then. We're going to keep working on those exercises for perambulation. Can you remember any of the ones we did yesterday?" Quinn stared at the ceiling. Wendy spoke in a thick southern belle drawl, her voice sing-songing as if she was reciting the words to a well-known nursery rhyme. "No? That's alright. Why don't I remind you?"

Quinn couldn't focus on Wendy or her exercises. It was nearly lunchtime and Rachel still had not arrived. She was usually perched on the side of the bed, watching the morning news and picking at the hospital breakfast that Quinn usually pushed away, even before Eileen had been by for her morning checks. Where the hell was Rachel? There was a heavy weight pressing down on her chest as she began to panic.

"Hi! I'm so sorry I'm late!" Rachel came tumbling through the door, dropping her bag and coat over the chair by the window. "Can you believe I slept in!?"

Wendy laughed, "It happens to the best of us!"

Quinn narrowed her eyes. She couldn't imagine Rachel or Wendy would have ever slept-in even once in their lives.

"Why don't we show you where we're up to and we can take it from there?" Wendy was straight back to business. "Okay Quinn, let's go back to the strengthening those triceps. Can you put your elbow on the bed and push your hand right down into that ball?"

Quinn did as she was told, and releasing long, sharp breath.

"Five…four…three…two…..That's good Quinn. Let's do it again…..alright! Now can you do the other side?"

Instead, Quinn rolled her eyes, picked up the ball and threw it in Wendy's direction. It missed.

"This is stupid! There's nothing wrong with my arms. It's my legs that don't work in case you hadn't noticed! What are they even paying you for!?" Quinn spat the words at her and Rachel pressed a gentle hand against her friends shoulder. In her experience, this wasn't an unusual way for Quinn to end the hour of physio. Quinn shrugged her off.

"I can see that you're feeling quite frustrated and that's okay to feel like that. But strengthening the muscles in your arms and your torso is just as important as working on your legs. You'll be able to have more control when you're in the wheelchair and once your more confident with your upper-body strength we'll be able to move you onto the parallel bars. Everything we're doing here is all working towards a common goal – and that's getting you walking."

Quinn felt her lip curl into a snarl, however, she decided to remain silent. Wendy took it as her cue to continue. She moved to the end of the bed and placed a hand against Quinn's right foot, she motioned for Rachel to do the same with the left.

"Alright we'll step things up a little bit. Same idea as the triceps exercise – push against out hands for a count of five – release for five, then push again for five." She stared at Quinn, trying to read her expression – it was useless. "Ready? Okay, five….four…Quinn, really engage those muscles."

"I can't…." Quinn sounded pathetic.

"You can – push!" Wendy was encouraging, enthused.

"I can't do it…" Quinn was barely trying.

"Five….four….three….Come on Quinn! I know you can do better than that!"

It was like a little piece inside of Quinn has snapped, sprung back. She couldn't quite manage to get a hold of it. She slammed her hands down on the mattress.

"How do you know what I can do!? You don't even know me! You see me for an hour a day! How could you possibly think you know who I am!? You don't know anything! You don't know a god damned thing!"

Quinn swiped her arm towards her bedside table sending her telephone flying and smashing the night lamp into pieces on the floor.

"If it weren't for you I'd be out of this hospital! I'd be living my life! But because of you, because you don't know anything about anything - I'm not getting better! I'm not getting any better, Wendy! These fucking exercises don't do shit! You're supposed to fix me! You're supposed to fix my legs and make me better and I'm not! I'm not! So don't you dare tell me I can do something that I know I can't! Don't you dare!"

It was as though time stood still. The tension in the room could be cut have with a knife. For a moment, everyone was motionless. Quinn was battling with her emotions, doing her best to fight off the oncoming tears. Wendy's shoulders were visually rising and falling with each breath. There was still ten minutes left, but the shocked physiotherapist was already collecting her things and making a beeline for the door. "I think that's enough for today. We'll try again tomorrow," Wendy said quietly and Rachel offered her an apologetic smile. Then she was gone.

Rachel wasn't entirely sure herself what had happened – it had all gone on so fast. No, it wasn't unusual for Quinn to end her therapy session with a fight, but not like this. Never like this. Quinn had completely lost control. Today it has just been too much, it had tipped her over the edge. Everything that she'd been pushing back down had suddenly come bubbling to the surface.

Rachel poured Quinn a glass of water. She was sweating and shaking and Rachel wondered if it was just from the exertion of the recent dispute or if it had actually been quite a difficult session. She held the straw to Quinn's pale lips.

"She's not coming back, is she…" Quinn's voice was unwilling, her words almost inaudible. It wasn't really a question. Rachel put the glass back on the bedside table and stared at her friend. For a moment, Rachel wondered if Quinn was also thinking of her mother.

Quinn's hair was plastered to her forehead her cheeks were flushed her chest was heaving. She looked down at the sheets. The tears that had been threatening began to fall. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, but it was no use, they just kept coming. They rolled down the side of her face onto her pillow.

This was so much more than just a run-in with Wendy. The injustice of the whole situation was taking its toll. Quinn closed her eyes and choked out a sob. She covered her mouth in an attempt to stop it.

The brunette exhaled slowly. She was at a complete loss. She wanted nothing more than to help, but she simply did not know how.

Cautiously, Rachel wrapped her hand around Quinn's and squeezed gently. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the constant beating of Rachel's pulse beneath her fingertips. She could feel Rachel's thumb running back and forth over her knuckles. She fought to get her breathing back under control. Eventually the room once again fell silent.

A sharp knock at the door pulled them both out of their thoughts. They looked up as a shock of white blonde hair appeared in the doorway. It was none other than Coach Sue Sylvester.


End file.
